Wishing
by Mad Scientist Sidekick
Summary: Steve Rogers has settled into a relatively normal life with his foster family when everything is turned on its head by the arrival of a new transfer student at his school, Phil Coulson, who gives him an ominous warning. Soon after, Steve stumbles on a magical world he never knew existed. But all is not as it seems - Steve soon finds himself drawn into a game of cosmic intrigue.
1. Prologue

Wishing

Prologue

The path stretched on and on, with only a small light at the end. Steve ran as quick as he could, unable to overcome the unease of this strange, empty space – all that was here was the cobblestone path under his feet, and a strange oppressive darkness. There were eerie whispers all around, and the smell of gunpowder and ballpark peanuts making a bizarre mix. He could hear his own wheezing in his ears but didn't dare stop. Rats scurried across his path and even across his feet, despite the speed with which he was running. All he knew was that he had to find Peter, and fast. He shuddered to think about the little boy, lost in such a place.

He finally stumbled out into open air, but this was hardly better. The sky was filled with seemingly levitating gears, turning and grinding on each other with a hellish noise, and still that terrible scent, and now, the sound of shrill laughter (or was it hysterical crying?) and a chilling cold. It almost seemed like he was in the eye of a hurricane – all around there was a wall of dark clouds. The city around him was in ruins, and Steve tripped over the rubble. There were still rats everywhere, and if Steve had ever been as afraid of them as some of his friends, he wouldn't be functioning anymore.

He froze, not knowing what he should do, until he spotted the boy. A slight, brown-haired boy of Steve's age, but he was wearing a three piece suit that made him seem older. Seemingly teleporting from place to place, setting off … bombs? Grenades? Something, against the gears and the black entity that pressed around the little area of city Steve had emerged into. But the thing fought back – long, sticky black tendrils emerged from the cloud and wrapped around the boy and threatened to pull him apart, and gears threatened to pull him in and crush him. The boy was bloody and battered, but showed no signs of giving up, even as the black tendrils started to pull him into the mass of the entity.

"You can help, you know," a man said. Tall with long straight black hair and a red suit. He didn't seem affected by the horror all around him – he just stood there and smiled.

"What can I do?" Steve asked, both out of disbelief and a desire to help in any way he could. "What can I do, against all of this?" And now the boy was screaming, fighting even harder against the tendrils, but Steve didn't understand what he was saying.

"Make a contract with me, Steven, and join the fight against monsters that threaten our world."  
>"Yes – anything," Steve said, and extended his hand.<p>

Steve started awake at the sound of something like a firecracker or a car backfire, but that he knew wasn't. "Was that a gunshot?!" Bruce asked. Peter started to cry in his crib. "Yeah it was," Clint said softly, stirring slowly. The sound didn't even jar him awake anymore.

"Boys? Are you okay?" Mrs. Parker called into the room.

"We're fine," Steve called back, more worried about whoever was outside. It was close.

"Should we call the police?" Mr. Parker asked loudly enough they could hear it.

"Yes, Ben – you should call right away. Boys – are you decent?"

"It's okay, I've got Peter, Mrs. Parker," Steve called quickly, and he went to the little one's crib and lifted him out with some difficulty considering the boy was almost ready for a "big boy bed." Peter, the only one of the boys biologically related to either of the Parkers, always stopped crying as soon as Steve held him – none of the other boys had such luck.

"What do you think happened?" Clint asked, finally sitting up.

"I don't know," Bruce said, and his tone said he didn't want to hear any speculation from his younger foster brothers.

"Do you think someone's dead?" Clint asked.

"Clint, hush, you're going to scare Peter," Steve whispered, even though the boy was already plenty worried. So was Steve – it was a big gun, whatever it was, and it was unsettling to hear, here in the relative safety of his foster parents' neighborhood.

"Like do you think there's going to be cops and everything?"  
>"Probably … I think they have to respond to something like this," Steve said, realizing he wasn't going to get his wish that Clint would be quiet, and he could only hold the little boy and try to comfort him.<p>

"Do you think they'll ask us anything?"  
>"They're going to have tons of people, lughead, they won't need you. Go to sleep," Steve said grumpily, as Peter started whimpering. "It's okay, Peter, we're safe here," he whispered soothingly. When the boy had calmed down Steve put him back to bed, and went back to sleep himself, hoping the day would erase the fear stirred by the shot.<p>

"Oh hey … happy birthday Bruce," Steve said before he dropped off, realizing it must be after midnight. But the older boy had already fallen back asleep.


	2. Chapter 1: The New Boy

Wishing

**Author's Note **

So if you haven't seen Puella Magi Madoka Magica yet (unlikely since you clicked on this but you never know), for the love of God go see it. It's streaming legally on crunchyroll and it's amazing and I can't do it justice here. Go watch it now. Because I'm going to spoil a very significant amount of the plot and pretty much everything about how the world works in this fic.

* * *

><p>Chapter 1<p>

The New Boy

It wasn't a very long walk to school – which meant Steve, Bruce, and Clint didn't really have an excuse to be late, which is why Bruce, the oldest and holder of a perfect attendance record, was insisting that they run, which was funny because he was the least prone to running of any of them. Steve and Clint tried to find breath to laugh as they ran – Clint had more success than Steve, as usual when it came to anything that involved physical exertion.

They arrived at St. Jerome's Catholic School with only a moment to spare – Steve and Clint stopped to catch their breath while Bruce hurried in.

"Don't be late again," the older boy snapped between gasping breaths as the other two paused in the doorway.

"It's just study hall," Clint called after him, but Steve was sure that plea fell on deaf ears.

The younger boys made their way through the halls to the big study room where morning study hall was held, talking about the next year, when they would be freshmen. For Clint, that meant JROTC, tryouts for varsity baseball, and a second chance at football. For Steve, it meant … well, being a year older and taking harder classes. "And you might get to do some nudes," Clint added, his mind in the same track most fourteen-year-old boys were.

"Oh yeah … I'm sure Sister Jody would not in any way be in trouble for letting us draw nudes in art class. And you have to be eighteen to get in the classes with the nude models at the community center." Which was something of a relief – Steve was entirely certain there was no scenario of taking paint to canvas in the same room as a real life naked woman that did not end with him embarrassing himself one way or another.

The conversation was ended (for which Steve was grateful) when they came within earshot of Sister Beatrice, the sharp-tempered nun who overran the middle school study hall. One look at her face when she saw them, and they wished they had taken Bruce's advice to keep running – they were forced to keep their heads down in a sign of contrition as they walked past her glare, dreading the moment she asked to know why they were late. As they didn't have an officially sanctioned excuse and it was pretty far from their first offense, they knew before she said it that it was lunch detention for both of them.

They took their usual place by the window and buried their heads in books. Steve generally made an effort to actually study … Clint generally hid comic books inside his textbooks and spent the thirty minute study hall reading them, and this day was no different.

It was a pretty typical morning right up until Steve looked up and saw a very familiar boy sitting a few tables away, reading a thick book. Steve looked away quickly, afraid to be caught staring. It didn't matter – the girls had already noticed the stranger anyway and flocked to him. He had to be their age – the high school kids had a separate study hall – but he looked older. They all wore the same Catholic school uniform, but somehow the new boy looked better in it than everyone else. It was pressed and sharp, and he wore it with more confidence than any of his classmates. Steve knew he must be the new boy the student aides had been told about, and he'd thought he would be in the position of welcoming him and showing him around, but Phillip seemed to already know exactly what he was doing.

He seemed so familiar – where had they met before?

Sister Beatrice eventually chased the girls away, leaving the new boy in peace.

The study hall ended and it was time to head to worship. Clint had sort of been raised Baptist – his parents didn't really care – and Steve was Presbyterian, so they went to the Protestant worship. Or "hanging with the heretics," as Mr. Fury put it. As they joined the throng of Protestants, Steve felt a presence behind him. He turned to see who stood so close behind him, and came face to face with the new boy.

"Oh, hi, you must be Phillip, I'm …"  
>"Steve Rogers. They told me about the student aides," the new boy said evenly.<p>

"Oh. Hi. Well if you need anything …"  
>"Do you value the life you have, Steve?" Steve was beginning to feel very weirded out.<p>

"Uh … yeah …"  
>"Good. Then you wouldn't do anything to change it, no matter how good an offer sounded, or how many people you thought you could help. You're more good to the world just as you are, no matter what you hear."<p>

"Um … okay …"

"Have a good day," the boy said abruptly, and with that, he joined the larger group of Catholics heading to their chapel.

"That … was really weird," Clint said as they watched him go, and he sounded like he felt as uneasy as Steve did.

They had English class with the strange boy – Steve tried not to make eye contact as he took his place in the seat next to Clint. They almost caught each other's glimpse and that would have resulted in laughing nervously.

Class started and Mr. Fury took a moment before his traditional chewing out of the class about the poor quality of the last assignment he had received to introduce the new boy. "Class, we have a new student today, Mr. Phillip Coulson. Go ahead and stand up Phillip." The boy stood up, and if all eyes on him bothered him at all he didn't show it. "Phillip has been out of school for a while now due to a medical condition, so I expect all of you to remember the golden rule, be helpful, and not pull any hazing bullshit on him." Steve still remembered how taken aback he'd been the first time he'd heard Mr. Fury using that kind of language in class – he looked to Phillip for his reaction, but the new boy didn't even blink at it.

"Thank you, Mr. Fury," Phillip said graciously.

"Tell us a little bit about yourself, Phillip."  
>"I'm fourteen-years-old, but I feel older." That failed to surprise anyone. "I've been out of the game for a while but I'm focused and ready to do what needs to be done." There was a long pause, and then just when everyone was wondering why he was being so mysterious, he added, "I was born with a heart condition and I have had several surgeries in my lifetime. I like to read, and I like drama. I came here from a group home called St. Jude's, and I'm glad to be here now. I'm hoping that this year will be a good year." That sounded almost normal. "That's really all I have to say, sir."<br>"Thank you for that, you can take a seat. I hope that your fondness for reading gives you an advantage over your classmates, who are apparently confused about the language they allegedly speak." And this led into the traditional morning chew out.

"_Lord of the Flies _is not a difficult book, ladies and gentlemen," he began. "Hence, why we give it to freshmen to read." Yeah, Steve thought sarcastically, people suck. That's what _Lord of the Flies _meant. "Does anyone care to offer their interpretation?" Several hands shot up. "The first student to say 'People suck' will get a lunch detention." Most of the hands went down, but one of the hands still in the air was Phillip's.

"New boy – take it away."  
>"Well, the most common interpretation is basically that people suck." Add "bravery" to Phillip's list of qualities. "But to elaborate, this novel embodies the concept of original sin, or the idea that man's natural tendency is towards evil, named for the tenet held by some branches of Christianity that man is inherently corrupted because of the original sin of Adam and Eve." Everyone stared. "Obviously its not exclusive to religious thought. This story says that without the boundaries of civilization, people revert to their natural tendency towards cruelty and selfishness. This is the opposite of the view of philosophers such as Rosseau that children are inherently innocent and only become cruel because of the influences of the outside world … rather than civilization being presented as the corrupting force, civilization in <em>Lord of the Flies<em> is seen as the positive, restraining force, with the potentially idyllic setting of the untamed jungle island brutally subverted, and instead of providing a nurturing …"

"That's enough, son – you don't need to write your classmates' essays for them," Fury said, obviously pleased with the analysis given by the new student. What did "subverted" even mean? Rosseau … what? Some of the other kids were mumbling things like, "nerd," and "brown noser" but most of the kids just looked impressed – especially the girls. As for Steve – he just felt weirdly uneasy.

Steve didn't have another class with the new boy until gym – he was sure someone who just got out of the hospital for open heart surgery would be sitting it out, and sure enough, Coach Thompson barked at him to take a seat in the bleachers.

"I'm fine, Coach," the new boy said evenly, as he followed the other boys to the locker room to change.

"Coulson – I'm not getting sued by … I don't know, the state I guess … because …" But the new boy had already disappeared into the locker room, and Coach Thompson could only stand outside and fume, ready to rip the new boy a biologically superfluous rectum when he came back out for walking away while he was talking.

Steve tried not to gawk, but everyone did – Phillip had scars that went from his collar all the way to his belly button, tracing a path along enviable musculature. "They had to crack open my rib cage," he explained without looking at anyone in particular who was staring as he slid a gym shirt over his head. "Or at least, they did when I was little. The newer ones were less invasive." Which explained why the scars looked so old and the scars from the most recent surgery weren't so obvious.

When Phillip stepped out of the locker room, Coach Thompson began to yell – as expected. Phillip ignored him and went to the dangling ropes and started to climb one. Everyone shut up immediately, even Coach Thompson – Phillip shimmied up the rope like he was some kind of squirrel or something and got to the top faster than Steve had ever seen anyone do it (Steve usually got stuck a few feet off the ground and had to drop off). "Was that a record, Coach?" he called back down, and his voice was steady and he wasn't out of breath.

"I uh … I didn't start the timer."

"Oh well. I'll try again." There were no more complaints from the Coach about getting sued for allowing Phillip to participate in the physical activities.

The next try did, indeed, yield a record. Phillip's lap run didn't set any records but he made good time, and he was also quite good at making basketball goals apparently – so much so that Coach Thompson was practically begging him to try for basketball next year. Everyone was amazed, and didn't know quite what to think – maybe the group home he had been in was like a prison in that there was nothing to do but read and work out. That was a sad thought.

* * *

><p>Bruce was a little bit in despair of Robbie ever understanding that tutoring did not mean "I do your homework for you." He tried, one more time, to get Robbie to do his math on his own, but then gladly took the excuse to look up at his newest student, Phillip Coulson. He shook hands, and asked him to explain where he was.<p>

"I actually don't think I'll need your help at this point, Bruce," Phillip said evenly. "I've been able to keep up with the math all right."  
>"Are you sure?"<br>"I'll show you, if you want." Phillip took out the reviews they had sent him in the hospital and Bruce pored over it. Everything looked correct.

"Wow. This is impressive."  
>"It's not like there was anything else to do in the hospital," Phillip answered coolly. It didn't seem to bother him.<p>

"Uh, right. I'm sorry that you had to go through with that … are you doing okay?"  
>"So far."<br>"So do you stay here at the school or do you live near here?" Anything to avoid going back to fighting with Robby – not that Bruce would ever admit he felt that way.

"I live on campus with the other unassigned wards of the state." Oh.

"I'm sorry … I'm a foster too."  
>"Your brothers are Steve and Clint right?"<p>

That was an opening. "Oh? You met them already?"  
>"We have some classes together. Having brothers must be nice."<br>"I … It is. I was an only child before … Before I went to live with the Parkers."  
>"I had a sister. She was younger than me. I barely remember …" the new boy trailed off, something finally bothering him. "The main thing I remember is trying to get out of the car to look for her and I couldn't get the door open." That was easily the saddest thing Bruce had heard in a year, if it implied what he thought it did.<p>

"It's … if you ever need to talk to anyone … I'm always here."

"Thanks," Phillip said and he smiled a little bit for the first time.

* * *

><p>Clint and Steve weren't allowed to talk at lunch – he wished they were. He'd ask if Clint had any other classes with the new boy. Father Wagner was the best priest to have detention with – he was nicer than the others – but his tolerance had limits. Usually it was dead silent in the detention hall, but today it was turned to the news – they were still covering the Stane murder. Steve didn't want to sound callous, but it had been weeks, and he wasn't sure why they were still covering the murder of one man just because he was rich when people died every day. Sure, it was spooky – absolutely no one had seen the assassin, not even people standing right next to Stane – but it was all anyone on the news had talked about for weeks.<p>

After lunch, they headed to math class. They saw the strange new boy already sitting at a desk close to them, and they shared a look and a brief nervous laugh before they went to their seat and tried really hard not to make eye contact with him.

They took their seats and pulled out their pencil cases and notebooks – Sister Maria was the kind of teacher who would glare at you if you weren't completely ready for her class by the time the bell rang. She couldn't technically tardy slip you as long as you were in the door, but there was no rule against getting glared at, and her glares were felt somewhere deep in your soul. She was the kind of teacher whose idea of a "treat" was giving the students five minutes at the end of class to start on their two hours of nightly homework. She was beautiful, even without make-up and only the plain style of a nun, but she wasn't one of the ones that the boys secretly fell for. At least, no one Steve knew had.

They were learning about the order of operations, with PEMDAS drilled into their heads. Mrs. Parker had told them the mnemonic "please excuse my dear Aunt Sally" but Sister Maria would probably sooner die than tell them anything so cutesy, no matter how helpful it was.

They were very quiet in all of class and carefully copied the notes – you didn't want your attention to wander in Sister Maria's class. She always noticed, and never let it go unpunished. Apparently, the new boy hadn't gotten that memo. "Is something more interesting Mr. Coulson?"  
>"I'm sorry, Sister, I was just looking ahead in my lessons."<br>"Looking ahead?"  
>Phillip apparently missed the warning in her voice. "I was given the class materials for the semester to help me catch up, and after meeting with my tutor last period, I was given materials for concepts yet to be covered in this class."<p>

"Then you won't mind …" Before she could finish the sentence, Phillip was on his feet, on his way to the board to do the problem Sister Maria had set up for the victim of the day. He did the problem in less than one minute, then stepped aside to wait for the approval of his work. Sister Maria cleared her throat.

"Very well, Mr. Coulson. In the future, I expect more decorum, and I expect a lunch detention tomorrow will help you remember that." Steve tried to figure out how exactly Phillip had been disrespectful.

"Yes, Sister," he said respectfully and took his seat.

Sitting through seventh period was incredibly difficult – Steve couldn't put his finger on why, but he was very disturbed by the new boy, probably because he seemed so familiar … where had they met before?

As soon as the bell rang for the end of the day, Steve packed up his stuff with more haste than usual. He almost ran to the drama room, but didn't want to risk another awkward encounter with the new boy, so instead he went to his usual meeting place with his brothers in front of the school. Bruce, whose final class was English in a classroom very close to the front exit, was there first, talking to Natasha (as usual). "So – tomorrow at seven?"  
>"Yeah, that will work fine," Bruce said quietly.<p>

"Hey Clint, hey Steve," she said with a smile as they approached. Steve managed to keep a straight face even though he was having vivid, humorous flashbacks to a few nights prior. It was sort of hard to face Natasha without laughing nervously when every time he saw her, he thought of Clint moaning her name in his sleep loudly enough to wake his brothers and kissing his pillow, and then discovering what Mr. Parker had gently referred to as "the first awkward tumble into manhood," immediately thereafter. Clint elbowed him hard as though he sensed he was mentally being laughed at, and that really did make Steve laugh. Then they both did.

"I feel like I'm missing a joke here," she said, nonplussed, while Bruce frowned, probably wishing he could go full stern nun mode and beat them violently with rulers since he knew exactly what they were thinking about.

"It's nothing!" Clint said quickly, his cheeks bright red. "We just … were thinking about something that happened in math class." Nice cover.

"What happened in math class?" Bruce asked quickly, glad to help them cover.

"The new boy – Phillip Coulson – he kind of demolished a math problem on the board. He did it with attitude too … Sister Maria was really mad," Steve explained. "She didn't take it as well as Mr. Fury … Phillip had this long discourse on _Lord of the Flies_ ready. Mr. Fury used that as a reason to yell at the rest of us for expecting to be spoon fed," Steve said, almost laughing.

"Ugh, I hated that one," Bruce said absently, referring to _Lord of the Flies_. Every time they brought it up, he mentioned that he hated it.

Clint added in his two cents. "He was … really weird in drama too. Like … when we were doing the reading portion, he just kind of flipped through everything but got every question Sister Ruth asked him at the end, and then he was too good at improv. He reacted to everything immediately and in ways that made total sense …"

It occurred to Steve he hadn't had the chance to mention gym. "He … was good at gym too. Coach Thompson was begging him to try for basketball."

"I'm a little surprised by gym, not so surprised by the classes … he obviously worked very hard to keep up with his studies in the hospital," Bruce said evenly, not as unnerved as the rest of them. "But … is he even supposed to be doing gym? Considering he just had an operation?"  
>"He was fine – he didn't have an attack or anything." Which was more than you could say for Steve on a bad day – his asthma was not very forgiving.<p>

"Mmm. Sounds dreamy," Natasha said flatly, but clearly didn't mean it. "So – I'll see you tomorrow, Bruce."  
>"Yeah … you sure you won't come with us?" he asked.<p>

"No but … thank you. And happy birthday, Bruce," she said, and hugged him before leaving to catch her bus.

"Does Jane know you spend so much time with Natasha?" Clint asked in a mocking voice, as soon as Natasha was out of earshot, which made Bruce's cheeks go bright red. Otherwise, the oldest brother didn't dignify that with a response.

"What are you guys always doing together anyway?" Clint asked, unfazed.

"We just … hang out. I help her with science."

"Why do you only help her with science?"  
>"She got way behind in it and she needs it," Bruce said shortly, and even Clint knew the conversation was over. The younger boys shared a look but kept their mouths shut.<p>

* * *

><p>It was Bruce's third birthday with the Parkers. In July, it would be Steve's fifth, and in September it would be Clint's second.<p>

Dad had known the Parkers for years and they arranged to take him in before Dad was at the end. It was only supposed to be until Mom got home … but the IED changed that.

It was a quiet day at the hospice, with the sun shining. Steve wished it had been raining, it would have been more fitting … but people died every day and it couldn't be gray every day. Probably the only reason Dad held on as long as he did was he hoped Mom could make it. She didn't. "The only thing I'm sad about … is I don't get to see you grow up, Steven." Dad never called him Steven any other time, only at the end.

"I love you Daddy," Steve said in a voice that belonged to a much younger child, tears streaming freely down his face.

"Don't be sad, Steven – I'll see you again some day. Maybe there's windows in Heaven – if there is I'll be looking down on you every day."

"Okay Daddy," Steve said, and tried really hard to smile. He hadn't called him Daddy in years.

"I'd tell you to be good but … you're already so good, Steven, just stay good."

"Okay … I promise."

"I love you son."  
>"I love you too Daddy." Then there was a long silence, and then one last shuddering breath, and another long silence until the nurse came in and gently told Steve it was time to go home with his "grandparents." No one felt like correcting the mistake at the moment.<p>

Then there was a quiet ride to the Parkers' apartment, where he'd already been staying for a while, with no words said between Steve and Mr. Parker, and Steve went into the guest room to cry for a while.

Even though the Parkers were Episcopalians and Steve was Presbyterian, he went to St. Jerome's because they had good scholarships for foster children and military dependents and Mr. Parker said Catholic schools were the best, even if you were Protestant.

He still remembered the day that he realized the arrangement would be much more permanent. Sister Theresa told him he needed to go to the office – he went with heavy feet, wondering if there was some mix-up and he was in trouble for something some other kid did. Instead, the Parkers were waiting for him – they had gotten a call from the Army and it was very bad news. With Dad, at least there was warning … Mom wasn't supposed to die. He'd known she was in danger, but he had always hoped that she'd make it home okay and they'd be a family again. Steve felt like someone had pulled all his insides out … just empty. He felt that way for a long time, even though he told himself Mom and Dad were together again and he should be glad for that.

It was a good home with the Parkers, a very good one, but there were still days he missed his parents.

The Parkers were never planning to take any more foster children, but Bruce's story was so sad it was hard to say no to the social worker who called. He was already one of Steve's schoolmates when it happened, even if Steve hadn't really known him. He was a couple of years older but four grades ahead, he was always quiet and apparently never wanted to go home. He did extracurriculars whenever he could and the students knew that sometimes he slept in the lighting booth for the auditorium and sometimes his mother joined him – when Father Wagner found out about it he let them sleep in one of the empty dorms so at least they'd have actual beds. And then everyone found out why … it was all the school could talk about for a year once it hit the news. Bruce's father murdered his mother … right there in front of Bruce. His aunt and uncle lived in California and the prosecutor didn't want his witness to move so far away, and the social worker thought it would be better for him to stay in school instead of losing everything at once.

Bruce didn't talk much when he first came, with some of his things in a trash bag because his parents never got him anything better – if his mom had tried to buy any luggage, his dad probably would have beat her to death sooner, assuming she was trying to leave. He shared a room with Steve, and neither of them minded. The main point of conversation was Bruce making it clear that he was not going to testify, no matter how much the assistant district attorney begged. "Why?" Steve asked the first night as they went to bed. Bruce didn't answer.

They made him testify anyway – they threatened to subpoena him, and the threat was enough for Bruce to cave in. Mrs. Parker went with him and watched him testify, and when they got home about the time school got out, Bruce's face was very red and he excused himself to their bedroom for the rest of the day, and wouldn't answer when Steve asked if he was okay, just turned his face towards the wall and pretended to be asleep, but Steve could hear him sobbing. Steve never got to hear about it directly but he overheard Mrs. Parker telling Mr. Parker that Bruce's father kept interrupting him by yelling that he was going to Hell for disobeying him until Bruce was in tears and shaking so badly he could barely speak. Eventually, the jury found Bruce's dad guilty but the judge ended up overturning the sentence and sending him to the asylum instead of prison. It sounded like that's where he belonged, and Steve hoped it was for a long time.

The day Clint came wasn't as sad – it was still sad, but there was more hope in it. Steve liked to do stuff for the local USO and he ended up meeting an orphan from Iowa who was about to sign up for the Army and was desperately hoping to find a family he approved of to foster his little brother while he was gone. He brought the little brother he spoke of to the next event, and Steve and Clint hit it off right away. Steve knew being a foster parent was a big deal so he didn't want to ask the Parkers to take Clint … but they only had to see the two of them playing baseball together to decide they wanted to "do their patriotic duty" by taking Clint in while Barney was in boot camp and overseas. The day Barney shipped out, he dropped off Clint and hugged him goodbye, and Clint ran to the window to watch Barney waiting at the bus stop until it picked him up.

Whenever Barney was on leave he would crash on the couch (he and Clint had been effectively homeless when Barney enlisted) and the two blood brothers would go off to do things together after school – it was only for six years, Barney told Clint every time he left. He'd be out by the time Clint turned eighteen, and they could live together in family housing and both go to the same college. It was a lot more hopeful than what the other boys had.

Maybe it's because he was already so safe with his brother that Clint never felt quite at home there, the way Bruce and Steve did almost immediately. When Mr. Parker's brother and sister-in-law were in a fatal car accident and the Parkers had to take their nephew, Clint cried when he thought his brothers couldn't see because he thought that meant they would kick at least one of them out, and it would surely be him since he was the newest and not as good a student or as much of a "goody two-shoes" as Bruce or Steve. That didn't happen, of course – it just got really crowded in the "guest room."

* * *

><p>The Parkers and their three fosters were a welcome sight to David Morelli, owner of Lucca's Pizza. The eponymous Lucca had been Dave's great-uncle, God rest his soul. The old man tipped well, which would minimize whining from the waitress tonight, and the boys, like any teenage boys, could tear through a significant amount of pizza but they were all pretty well-behaved – the little hick from Iowa was the worst, and even he wasn't bad. Even the baby nephew was more tolerable than most babies – and even if he started crying, the blond kid could get him to stop really quickly. Dave wanted to hire him just to calm down the brattier kids when he was old enough to work – he was sure that kid would work. Then he could put even more pictures of them up on the wall and have even more people supporting the business because he was pro-family and all that good stuff.<p>

It was the oldest one's birthday – a forty-year-old man in a just-now-sixteen-year-old kid's body, that one. Not surprising, considering what he'd seen. Marco, Dave's nephew, had carefully hidden the cake in the back so it would be a "surprise" even though the Parkers did this every birthday and if the kids weren't expecting it by now, they were bad at pattern recognition.

They didn't have a TV in the back – that encouraged laziness – but there were several mounted on walls in the corners of the dining area. They were still covering the Stane murder – that had everyone stirred up. It wasn't just that everyone was freaked out about the current murder but all the conspiracy theorists who had finally died down a little after the Stark murders going full crazy again. A bunch of people seemed to think the Stark boy did it – that he survived somehow and did the murder undetected using whatever magic he used to go undetected for the last two years. Which, really, Dave thought "magic" jokingly but that's really about what the kid would have needed – Dave's guess, never to be voiced in polite company, was that the killers had the same fun with the boy they did with his mother and sister's nanny and didn't want the world to know it so they threw his body overboard and left the others where they lay. The only reason he thought that rather than the boy was in on it was his blood was apparently there in amounts that a person couldn't stand to lose, along with his family's. But even if he was somehow magically still alive – what did he have to gain from killing Stane? It's not like he could use the company's money, being legally dead and all. People had too much time on their hands and took too much pleasure in tragedy, Dave thought as he kept his ears peeled for any new details about either case.

"Excuse me, would you mind changing the channel? The news about that case has been luridly detailed and I don't want to upset Peter," Mrs. Parker asked sweetly as Dave set their usual table with silverware and passed out menus – not that they needed the latter, given they always ordered the same things.

"Sure thing ma'am. It's exploitative over coverage anyway," Dave said cheerfully, even though inside he was disappointed and thinking he would have to look it up online later. He was annoyed because he didn't think the baby was even old enough to know what was going on … though maybe he was, Dave didn't have any kids so he couldn't say. He put it on a baseball game instead – the hick, the blond, and the old man were all big baseball fans. "I'd rather watch baseball as it is."

They were such a cute family. Weird … but cute. Dave kept an eye on them as he went back and forth from the kitchen and throughout the dining room, wondering when they would leave and he could put the news back on.

The boys each gave their brother a present – it wasn't not a lot obviously, but they did what they could. The boy from Iowa gave him a book – probably a safe bet – and the blond said, "I drew this so you wouldn't have to go to the library to look for it all the time," and gave him a drawing in a frame that made the dark headed boy turn red, but he smiled. Obviously it wasn't anything dirty, but Dave was curious what it was. He managed to sneak a peek by standing on tiptoes and craning his neck when no one was looking – it was a stylized but very good drawing (the blond was talented) of the dark headed boy and the dark headed girl he had come here with once or twice, with the boy's arm around the girl and they were both smiling really broadly. They were a cute couple – Dave wondered why he hadn't seen the girl in a while.

"Thanks – I like this better anyway," the dark headed boy said softly.

"Peter drew you something too," the blond said with a little laugh as the baby impatiently pointed to his drawing – the dark headed boy smiled as he examined it.

"This is a beautiful … this is a beautiful drawing, Peter, thank you," the dark headed boy said as he held up the crayon scribbles, unable to identify a putative subject of the drawing. They should have called it modern art and sold it for millions of dollars to some rich idiot – that would have been a nice present.

"And last but not least – we got you something," the old man said and handed the birthday boy a flat package. He obviously suspected what it was, but didn't quite believe it – he opened it quickly and then gasped.

"But this is … this is too much …"

"We knew you'd be responsible with it – and anyway you deserve it. You've earned it time and again with good grades and being a sweet young man," the old lady explained. It was a tablet – not an iPad, one of the Windows ones that came with an attachable keyboard. Probably better that way – he could get some schoolwork done on it. "And besides – we thought you should be able to talk to Jane any time you want to." The birthday boy turned red again – Jane must be the girl. What was wrong with talking in person?

"Well … not any time … it has to be a time we're both awake and not busy with school," he said sheepishly. Oh – so she must be off somewhere as an exchange student or something.

"Oh please. You know you would call her at lunch if you could," the hick cut in.

"Yeah. And this way we won't have to wait to do homework and check Facebook until it's midnight in Sweden," the blond added, and they both laughed. Sweden huh? The birthday boy was gonna get a girlfriend with no tan lines when she came back. Nice late birthday present.

"Thank you so much, Mr. and Mrs. Parker this is … this means so much," the birthday boy said, with tears in his eyes. It was probably the most expensive present he'd ever gotten in his life – and Dave just knew he was going to be sickeningly responsible about using it.

The bell at the door rang – Dave looked up to see a teenage boy in a St. Jerome's uniform (if he recalled correctly, that's where the Parkers' boys went to school too) standing patiently at the door. He went to give him a menu and pick a table for him – all though he was thinking the waitress shouldn't expect a tip, considering most high school kids. "How many?"  
>"Just me." Maybe she could expect a tip then – the shy ones tended to be good tippers, probably since they didn't want anyone to think badly of them. The kid waved at the Parkers' foster kids … they waved back and the oldest smiled genuinely but the two younger ones just looked awkward.<p>

The blond and the boy from Iowa suddenly went really quiet – Dave was assuming it had to do with the boy who just came in. Dave should have sat him further away. But the boy didn't do anything – he just got a single slice of pizza and a coke and read a book he brought with him. He was reading some doorstopper college textbook about Norse mythology – weird. But Dave couldn't help but notice that he was looking over the top of it towards the Parkers' family – maybe there was a really good reason the two younger boys shut down immediately when he came in. With them being quiet, the whole table was quiet – Dave would have forgotten they were there if he didn't keep itching to put the TVs back on the news.

Whatever the case, it wasn't long before the Parkers paid their tab and left – Dave genuinely hoped the oldest one had a good birthday.

As soon as they were gone, he put it back on the news.

* * *

><p>It didn't take Bruce long to put the tablet to exactly the use they had predicted. The morning after his birthday, Bruce was on Skype with Jane, telling her about the night before and "casually" propping himself up on his elbow while shirtless so she could catch a glimpse of the results of the apparently brutal work-outs he'd been putting himself through for a few months now. Despite the fact this gesture, at least, was an extremely artificial bid for attention, the conversation was casual enough – they were talking about the physics of a TV show. "Inertia? What's that?!" Bruce asked in a sarcastic tone the brothers usually didn't hear from him.<p>

"Bruce, what time is it?" Clint asked grumpily.

"Oh hush you were supposed to be up thirty minutes ago," Bruce said back, but not harshly. Clint mumbled something whiny about not wanting to be up yet and Steve rolled out of bed, rubbing his eyes. Peter slept through it all – he'd probably fuss more if they were ever quiet when they got up. Steve went to the bathroom in the back of their bedroom to brush his teeth and wash his face – even with the door closed he could still hear Bruce and Jane talking even though it was muffled. Bruce laughed when he talked with her – now that Steve thought about it he didn't think he'd ever heard him laugh when he _wasn't _talking with Jane.

Steve's thoughts went back to Phillip. That was … that was a coincidence right, him coming into Lucca's? It had to be. Surely he wasn't following them or anything …

He knew him from somewhere. Had he seen pictures of him or something? Maybe something horrible happened to his parents and it had been in the news – it's not like you'd advertise something like that. That had to be it.

Clint broke into Steve's thoughts storming into the bathroom, his usual cheerful morning self. Clint somehow managed to brush his teeth angrily. "Hey … the sooner you get up, the sooner you get to school and see Natasha," Steve teased. Clint actually smiled a little bit. It must be nice to have a crush.

* * *

><p>It was so nice of the Parkers to give Bruce a tablet – but why wouldn't they? He was their son, after all. Sort of.<p>

Jane had been so absorbed in talking to him that she'd almost forgotten to eat – not that it mattered, Erik and his lab were very relaxed about schedules. As long as the work got done and Jane stayed on top of her schoolwork as well, Erik didn't mind.

Maybe she should just take her time – she wasn't sure she wanted to see Tor today. Not when the fact Bruce was posing for her shirtless (no matter how much he pretended that wasn't what he was doing) made her feel so weird and … guilty. Had she ever been fifteen and wondering if anyone would ever notice her? Because the past year was starting to seem like a sick joke. First Talbot, now this …

Well she was getting ahead of herself, wasn't she? Tor hadn't said anything, and he was out of her league anyway. Handsome and fun and as obsessed with the stars as her … he was … perfect.

Maybe Bruce just wanted to show off that he'd been working out and it was working, maybe it wasn't a pass, because they were friends and she didn't want to lose that because … he was perfect too. Funny, sweet, smart, and cute …

She was being stupid. Probably neither of them were interested in her that way and she was sitting here debating herself about which one she would choose. Stupid and just a little bit vain, too.

She decided to just go ahead and hurry to the observatory – if she got there quickly enough she could see Tor before he left for his afternoon classes.

Erik's lab was a big, cluttered room, with several desks and tons of computers, most of which were unused now that the university had a big computing center that researchers could use remotely, all though Erik spent a lot of time complaining about how much "investment" the university required for use of the servers they needed and kept threatening to go back to doing the computing in his own lab.

Most of what they did here was analytical – mapping, tracking, calculations – all the data collection happened miles and miles away, far away from city lights. Tor was a kinesiology major, which as far as Erik was concerned barely qualified him for a science major, but Tor had earned Erik's respect with the joy with which he pursued the simple, mostly secretarial work Erik gave him. "Anything to help your pursuit of the stars!" he would say enthusiastically when given an arduous task.

"Jane! I'm glad that you joined us!" Tor said happily when she came into the room. He always did – she guessed she was late coming back from lunch just often enough that it was worth noting when she came in before he left. He always spoke English with her – his English was fluid and he barely had an accent – because he thought she could "use the break." She never had the heart to tell him that most people she came across spoke English well enough – she had yet to find someone in Sweden who didn't speak at least a few phrases of English.

"It's good to see you too," she said. She never had figured out what the non-awkward response to that was. It must be a slow day – he had a notebook out and was drawing the tree again. He liked to draw a tree – always the same tree, with nine branches – on pretty much every bit of paper he owned. He probably had it tattooed somewhere too – Jane had often thought that but didn't dare ask. If he did, it wasn't on his forearms, and she was glad to leave it at that.

Jane went to the desk that was hers, next to Tor's, and opened her laptop – since there was nothing to do at the moment, she would work on schoolwork. And she could test the waters a little bit. "My friend Bruce got a tablet for his birthday … we can talk a little bit more often now."

"Bruce is the one whose father …" Tor started and checked himself. Jane hadn't really meant to share that – she didn't think Bruce wanted people to talk about it – but Tor was so easy to trust it just kind of … slipped. "The one who was your comrade on the science team?"

"Yeah. He's the captain now." And very proud of it.

"Is he … more than a friend?" Tor asked. Her heart raced. Well – that was a good sign, wasn't it? She liked Tor, she liked him a lot … but it was only a good sign if Bruce _was_ just a friend. No matter what, she wasn't going to break his heart. Especially not after everything else he'd been through.

"Um … no," she said, trying to hide her uncertainty.

"Oh. You speak of him often."

"A very good friend," she clarified. Oh this was stupid. What if Bruce did like her that way and she figured that out and then had to tell Tor she was sorry for leading him on? She was doing this all wrong.

She was actually grateful when Erik came along with an armful of data points that needed to be fed into the machine and grant applications that needed to be proofread for basic grammar.

* * *

><p>Study hall and worship went normally enough. Clint and Steve ignored the new boy, who despite the unease he brought to them, seemed to be popular – a lot of girls sat with him during study hall and he casually chatted with several boys on his way to join the throng of Catholics heading to their chapel.<p>

English went about as well as it usually did – today they were being chewed out especially vigorously for their lack of initiative, which was gauged by the fact that only three students had completed the assigned reading that was due next week (they had to read several novels throughout the year, on their own time, and take a basic comprehension test over it some day before or after school and write a short essay about one of the topics listed on a handout that came with the assignment. Clint had lost his handout and had to borrow Steve's). "And two of you have taken the test but not handed in your essay yet – I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to those of you who haven't seen fit to finish the book yet – and I know you haven't because if you had you would have taken the test before you forgot." Apparently Steve was exempt from the morning wrath – he had taken the test two days before but hadn't finished the essay yet. Clint however, was only halfway through _I Am the Cheese_ and that was only because he finally started reading it two days ago and was actually into it. "And your classmate of less than two days, Mr. Coulson, has not only … Where is Mr. Coulson?" Steve had been so determined not to look at his seat he hadn't even noticed he wasn't here today.

"He said he needed to go see the nurse right after worship," one of the Catholic girls said quickly. "I was supposed to mention it …"  
>"Oh good. I'm glad that you decided to give me this information well into the class period." At that moment, Steve felt an overwhelming sense of dread in his chest, and heard a voice like someone was talking to him, but given his classmates' reactions (or lack thereof) he had to have been the only one who heard it.<p>

_Steven Rogers – help me! _

Steve sat perfectly still, listening, sure he had to be hearing things. No one else was reacting – most of them were either cringing or laughing at the girl's bad luck at forgetting to tell Mr. Fury about Phillip going to the nurse. Well that wasn't exactly true – Steve looked up and saw that Clint looked stricken as well, and knew he'd heard it too.

_Steven, Clinton ... please!_

Without thinking, Steve got out of his seat and ran – he didn't know how he knew where to go, but he did. "Rogers!" Mr. Fury called after him as he opened the door. Clint followed closely behind. Unlike Steve, he took a moment to offer some explanation.

"Sorry, I have to go too … I think we both got bad meatloaf last night because we both spent all last night with …"  
>"Go," Mr. Fury cut him off, annoyed with the intended overshare, and waved Clint on.<p>

Somehow, they knew where to go – they ran down several flights of stairs to the basement, drawn by whatever was communicating with them. Steve felt his chest tighten but didn't stop for his inhaler – the situation was far too urgent.

The basement was a creepy place even when there wasn't a mysterious voice crying out for help – it was dark and musty and there were old, broken pews and desks stacked against the walls, which made it look very abandoned and threatening. The brothers ran down one corridor and then another, both drawn to the same place.

Nothing could have prepared them for the sight that was waiting for them. They noticed a flash of blue light and whirled to look down the adjoining corridor. A bright red bird – an abnormally colored magpie, Steve was pretty sure, not that the species of the bird was his concern at the moment – was flapping desperately on the floor, with it's feathers ruffled and slick with blood. Phillip Coulson stood over it, holding a bloody chain in one hand and pointing the other like he'd just somehow thrown the light. He wasn't in his school uniform, but rather a slick black suit, with some kind of small shield on his arm.

_Steven – I'm so glad you're here_. The bird … the bird was what talked to him.

Steve didn't have time to question – he stepped forward and scooped up the bird in his arms, holding it gently and trying not to injure it further. "What the hell are you doing?" Clint demanded of Phillip, speaking for both of them.

"You don't understand. Get away from that thing, it's dangerous," Phillip answered back, his voice a little raised but his tone even. He didn't show any signs of dropping the chain. Steve didn't understand – it was just a little bird. How could it be dangerous? Steve looked around to see if there was anything he could grab to defend himself – somehow, he got the feeling Phillip was going to get to this bird no matter what he had to do. Clint was way ahead of him – he grabbed the fire extinguisher off the wall and sprayed the foam on the transfer student. Given this cover, Steve booked it. Anywhere but here. He heard Clint's footsteps after him.

"You don't know what you're doing!" Phillip called angrily, but they left him far behind.

* * *

><p>Phillip brushed himself on and prepared to follow – he was going to kill that thing no matter what anyone had to say about it – when he felt the almost electric tingle of a monster barrier forming. "Now?" he asked under his breath, annoyed with the development.<p>

There was nothing to do but fight the creature before Steve and Clint could get hurt.

* * *

><p>Steve fell to his knees, unable to run anymore and desperately needing his inhaler. He gently set the bird down and fumbled for his emergency inhaler in his blazer pocket, wheezing and feeling like a fish out of water. Clint was cursing a blue streak and shaking. <em>Thank you for that – I was beginning to get concerned<em>. The bird's voice, which they heard in their heads, was deep and pleasant, with a hint of the hoity-toity kind of British accent rich people over there used.

"That's … an understatement," Steve said slowly, still not entirely sure why he was talking to a bright red magpie. Today was a weird day, for another understatement.

No sooner did Steve have the thought than reality dissolved around him. Out of habit, Steve held the breath to keep the medicine inside for as long as he could, even though everything told him he should run. _Oh dear. It would appear that we have a monster for company_, the little bird said nonchalantly. Clint stood on his feet, looking around anxiously and cursing some more. The walls of the basement disappeared, and were replaced by some kind of silky, colorful material that looked like fabric being draped. It looked so gossamer that Steve didn't think anything of Clint trying to go back the way they'd come, even though the strange wall was there too. Clint made a sound of disgust when he tried to touch it – Steve saw a splash of blood and thought his brother was bleeding for a second before he realized it was the wall. "Should … we try to break through?" Steve asked when he could speak somewhat normally through his wheezing.

_That would be inadvisable and likely draw the monster to your location. _The air was distorted by bright colors and writing in some kind of foreign language … Japanese or Chinese or Korean or … something. The air was filled with the smell of spicy Asian food – maybe Korean or Szechuan Chinese – and several other things, pleasant and unpleasant, most notably a soft, fruity perfume and a stinging, sickeningly sweet smell. Steve didn't recognize it, but he guessed Clint did because his eyes were sad instead of just scared.

There was something in here with them. Lots of creatures that seemed to be made of folded money of all denominations and nationalities – they were strangely amorphous, and shifted as they moved – slinked up the hall towards them. There were about four foot in length most of the time, but that was variable. Most of the time, they looked something like big lizards but when they went slinking across the floor, they seemed more like snakes. Worse, there was something else, something big – they could hear it slithering. The paper creatures came closer and snapped with wickedly sharp teeth – Steve's main fear was nasty paper cuts until Clint punched one on the nose, and instead of crumpling under his hand, the paper made a thud. Clint pulled back in pain, with his hand really bleeding now. The two of them hurried off away from the paper creatures – unfortunately the only way to go was towards the slithering thing. "So what do we do?" Steve asked the red bird, not sure why he expected it to know.

_Well I would suggest that you make a contract but I would really rather explain the terms first and as it appears we do not have time, I suggest being very still while you await the arrival of Natasha and Bruce, who should be here in …_

There was a flash of light and then a sword sliced through the bleeding silk wall and then two figures tumbled through.

… _two seconds._

A green humanoid figure, clothed only in a purple loincloth, about the size of a tall, well-muscled human smashed into the money-paper monsters and crumpled them with a splash of golden blood. Steve watched in confusion as this happened, trying to connect it to the bird's statement about waiting for Natasha and Bruce. Natasha was standing by the boys holding a bloody sword, wearing a suit of gleaming black armor with a long red cape flowing behind her. "Thank you, Steve – we heard Kyubey cry out and we were worried," she said enigmatically and turned to face the tunnel, where the big thing they had heard was now horrifyingly visible. "Sorry it took so long – we were trying to find our way through the labyrinth … until we were sure where you were, it wasn't worth it to waste magic cutting through walls," she said, surprisingly calm. The creature heading towards them was a dragon – a huge, snakey, Eastern style dragon. Only instead of scales, it was covered in _eyes_. Wide, staring, horrifyingly human, hazel, almond-shaped eyes.

Steve and Clint watched in fascination as Natasha ran down the corridor, raising the sword in a combat position. The dragon reared its head to strike, but she dodged it effortlessly and slid in under it and struck at its throat, slashing through it and causing the creature to cry out and start to back up. The huge green figure – Bruce?! – followed and landed a few punches to the dragon's belly, and then the dragon managed to turn itself around in the narrow corridor and flee. Bruce – if it was Bruce – started to give chase but Natasha put an arm on his shoulder. She had to reach up almost as high as she could to do so.

Phillip was standing in the junction of a hallway that opened into the corridor where they were – Steve and Clint tensed up to see him. "If you go after it now, you should be able to catch the monster before it gets away," Natasha said calmly.

"I have business here," Phillip answered back. It was like they were having a contest about who could be colder. He turned to look directly at Steve, and the hair stood up on the back of his neck.

"You don't read between the lines very well, do you new boy?" Natasha asked, a little bit of a smile creeping into her face. "I'm giving you a chance for a graceful exit that doesn't involve getting your butt kicked. There's two of us and only one of you." Clint snickered, but everyone else was dead silent. After a tense moment, Phillip went in the direction the dragon had gone, and no one relaxed until he was no longer visible.

Bruce's green form held up a square, green gem that seemed tiny in his huge hands, and with a flash of light and a little popping sound, he was returned to the boy they knew, uniform and all. "I suppose we should explain what just happened," he said awkwardly.

"That would be nice," Clint snapped. He knew they'd been kept out of the loop and he didn't like it.

"What about …" Steve started – he was still holding a tiny, frail bird. Before he could finish the sentence, Natasha took the small bird from him and passed her own round, bright red gem over the bird a few times and Steve watched in amazement as the bones popped back into place and the gashes healed. _Thank you, Natasha. _

"What were you doing down here, Kyubey?" Natasha asked. She stared at the bird almost … reverently.

_I was actually on my way to see Steven and Clint. _It sounded so cheerful and casual. Natasha smiled at this, Bruce looked alarmed.

"But … they're so young …" he said.

"Older than I was when I started," Natasha said softly, with just a hint of bitterness in her voice. "We should get out of the basement. If we stay much longer we'll invite even more suspicion – we can talk after school." She had so much command in her voice, that Steve didn't question it. He'd just have to sit through all the rest of his classes – that would be a long wait – and then, hopefully, he'd get some darn good answers.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note Part II<strong>

Oh dear, over a page of author's notes. They won't be so long-winded in subsequent chapters, I promise.

This fic may be very slow going in publication – I am about to get my master's in biology, and so this last semester I need to get good grades and then find a real life big girl job. Plus I already have two ongoing stories and a series of one-shots I'm working on. But I have been working on this project for a long time (I write out of order) and I think I couldn't wait any longer to start sharing it.

In addition to my praise of the source material, I have to thank SF Debris for the very insightful review of the series that helped me realize some of the structural and character things I would have missed otherwise. Those reviews were a huge help in writing this story.

I started writing this with intent of doing a brief "_PMMM_ but with _Avengers_ characters" and that did not work out. For one thing rather than try to force characters into square pegs just to match the anime I let them be more like themselves, especially Steve who is nothing like Madoka except that they both have what the folks at tvtropes would call Incorruptible Pure Pureness … and much more unique plot blossomed around them that and got more detailed, even though I kept a lot of the same points in the first half and like I said in the first note I will be spoiling like three fourths of the show so bail out now if you haven't watched it, people.

I'm going mostly with MCU for these characters but as you can see I'm bringing in a LOT of stuff from other media too. You can probably guess which characters I've put in roughly what roles from _Madoka_ but hopefully I've managed to write it so some things will be a surprise. It'll follow the show up to a point and then split off because of the crossover (there will be two distinct stories within it, almost like two "seasons.") I wanted to make a fanfic that would theoretically stand out on its own (despite my repeated warnings to see _Madoka_ first) so forgive me for repeating beats from the anime – my hope is that it will feel novel seeing different characters react to it.

The anime does this cool thing with the gems being the same colors as their eyes … since I'm not imagining a candy-colored anime universe, pretty much everyone's gem would have been blue or brown with an occasional green, so I just used whatever color motif the character is known for. While we're on the subject, I'm picturing all of this as one of those Western animated shows that rips off draws inspiration from anime in its art style. I'm really handicapped in text because so much of _Madoka_ was conveyed in the beautiful art style … if I could draw I would be doing that instead but unfortunately my eight-year-old cousin draws better than me and he's too young to illustrate this story. I'm also handicapped by the lack of the gorgeous soundtrack. My recommendation is either to listen to it while reading (it's available on I-Tunes and also probably on YouTube) or, if orchestral is not your speed, a lot of grungy, angry nineties/2000s rock music. Linkin Park, Three Days Grace, things like that. (I will be embarrassing myself by revealing my bad taste in music with playlists for future chapters.)

I used a lot of Catholic imagery and set it in a Catholic school for several reasons. _Madoka_ takes a lot of inspiration from _Faust_ and features a surprising amount of Christian imagery. Homura is said to have been raised in a Catholic orphanage and Kyoko's father was the leader of a cult that was explicitly stated to have branched off from an unspecified Christian denomination. Bruce Banner is canonically a lapsed Catholic (his dad was basically male drunk Carrie's mom … in case you didn't want to hug Bruce enough yet) and Steve Rogers has always been portrayed as a devout Christian (see the _Avengers_ "There's only one God ma'am …" line) so I just went with it.

Kinesiology as a major can vary quite a bit. At my college there were two different "tracks" for kinesiology – one was for the future coaches of America and didn't require anything harder than advanced nutrition and included a lot of education courses, and the other was actually fairly rigorous and intended mostly for future physical therapists and included a lot of the same classes premeds had to take (including the brutally hard anatomy and physiology which I actually didn't have to take because I was heading for grad school not med school). I have no idea if it's similar in Sweden so I'm sorry to any Scandinavian readers. I'm actually intending Tor to be more of a future physical therapist … I really hate seeing "dumb Thor" in fanfics. But at the same time he is a very physical person and not exactly a rocket scientist so I wanted to give him some kind of athletic thing.

Also I usually don't ever ship Blackhawk and I love Mockeye. I spend a lot of time screaming at myself asking why I keep betraying my ship in crossovers. Also … I don't know what happened with Bruce x Jane and I'm sorry. It just happened. I'm having a little fun with the fact a lot of people see MCU Jane as a Mary Sue. Having three guys crushing on you sounds like a nice problem to have, especially when you are justified to picture two of those guys looking like teenage Chris Hemsworth and teenage Mark Ruffalo, but I'm hopefully going to … show that in a little different light by the end. Also I hope it came across that I intentionally inverted the Kyosuke/Sayaka dynamic with Jane/Bruce in terms of what the other person brings out in the monster fighter – Sayaka is outspoken and loud most of the time, but demure around Kyosuke.

I don't usually watch anime so maybe someone who does can tell me … is it weird that none of these kids have parents? Madoka was like the only one whose family was shown … Homura, Mami, and Kyoko were all definitely orphans … do they not have foster care in Japan? Anyway, that aspect wasn't hard to adapt considering that in Western media most superheroes are orphans anyway, but since I was trying to do a story in a Western setting I sort of had to add the foster aspect for realism and I shamelessly went the fanservicey route with it. (Realism in a fanfic about little boys and girls making contracts to fight monsters in exchange for wishes, I know.)

Why did I change Kyubey's appearance? For one thing, I think Kyubey is their title, not their name (it would be weird to have a whole species called Incubators when that function of their society was presumably relatively recent compared to their existence as a whole, and even odder as an individual name unless it's like the old tradition of calling the blacksmith Smith and the carpenter Carpenter) so this is NOT the same character as in _Madoka_ and he is not the same species. More clarification would spoil the aspects of the plot that weren't in the show. You'll find out who he's based on soon enough, if you haven't already guessed.

_I Am the Cheese_ is really good despite the poorly chosen title – you should definitely read it if you're into mind-bending stuff. It's not a huge trip or anything, but it has a pretty good twist and I remember it was easily the easiest read on my freshman reading list despite the mind-screw. It also can be seen as having a certain thematic similarity to the plight of a certain character in _Madoka_ and therefore in this fic, which is why it was chosen.


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